It had been hours since the boys had gone home, and Will was finally giving up on the all-night monster marathon on the worn old console TV when he rose to his feet and began to wander to his room through the darkened kitchen and hall. A last glance out the window signaled him to something in the back yard. An odd shadow distorting the rectangles and bushy shadows of the same old view had him second-guessing in the inky night, but all the same... it wasn't the thumping, undulating evil that had violated him years before. That had smothered him. Overpowered him. Choked him. Filled him.
Probably.
No, this was no reeling figure of towering disgust. This was... weak. Buckling. Crawling on shuddering hands and knees, back hinches, choked sobs muffled with a greasy hand.
Human.
He inched into the kitchen in greyed old Nike Cortez sneakers that had seen years of gleeful summer silliness and better, and worse. Seconds or minutes ticked by until his slim, timid hand and its gentle fingers found the biggest kitchen knife they could and he resigned himself into action. With a cre-e-e-eak the back door inched open, and then closed. If that... thing... wanted to get in the house it would have that much more work, at least. After Will died trying or managed some victory.
Wet, shimmering grass buckled beneath light footsteps blade by blade until the interior of Castle Byers was well within view. A lump whimpered in its walls, with shuddered breaths and echoing grunts in the narrow plywood. The air turned into thick, humid static and Will's grip weakened on the knife as he called out into the dozens of feet of space between them.
"My... my name... is Will... B-Byers..."
The shape within the flimsy little homemade fort emitted no words, but a long, sustained, and throaty moan.
"You're... in my... f-fort..." he started, as if to assert ownership, but slowed as the person followed their noises with a pained yelp and sat mostly upright.
"Fuck... I'm still bleeding... shit..."
The voice rang more familiar now, and the knife slipped from Will's normally graceful fingers and stabbed seamlessly into the lawn with a taunting glint in the waning moonlight whispering through hazy cloud cover.
"You're... Max's brother. B-billy..." he blurts with concerned shock.
The shape squirms in the fort and, for all of its attempts to hide, a sliver of light peeks through the slats of the rain-buckled plywood and searing, laser-bright blue eyes peer at him, like a cornered cat hoping not to have to bare its claws.
Will speaks upbinto the void in the homemade refuge. "You... you need help. Don't you?"
Nothing but the panting of the figure, quiet and startled.
"You said... you were bleeding."
Quiet, still. Too far gone. But those eyes stay fixed. Untrusting. The tremulous cat in the alley waiting to be beaten. Again.
"Can... I clean you up?"
"Don't." He grunts simply. Pre-emptively defeated.
"Please."
Nothing.
Max always did say he would never let anyone in.
Will nods a little. "I won't... make you leave. It's okay. Castle... Byers. Welcomes all."
Even in his abject weakness, Will hears a hushed "Oh,forfuck'ssake." in the fort.
It's not the worst he's heard.
- - -
Morning comes and beats Billy's swollen eyes to slit open through the thickness and ache. Neil's ruthless belt and fists and cock won another round but this time, he's found a safe place to hide. He hasn't heard any sirens and no one's dragged him out by the shoulder of his crusty jacket. That's the lucky thing about black leather... it can suck up untold filth without spilling its secrets. With a yawn and splintering crack to his jaw he rights himself to sit up. His elbow nudges a shoebox he hadn't found in the dark, and a cheery, banana-yellow sticky-note on its lid reads, "Take what you need" in well-meaning but scribbly writing. There's a little pile of sandwich crackers and Pop Tarts inside with two juice boxes. Chipper Cherry. They're the store brand. Someone's giving from a small pantry. To his roiling stomach and its dinner of whiskey and worse, it's a banquet and he rips into a packet of neon orange cheddar crackers like a crazed animal and he downs two more with a juice box chaser but freezes with the sound of the back door opening and shrinks into the farthest corner of the tiny structure.
It's a pretty day out but sunlight means nothing but vulnerability to the beaten and broken. You can at least hide in the dark.
"If... you're still out there..." Will's voice calls softly into the pleasant summer morning's air, "Do you want scrambled eggs? I'm the only one home. It's okay. If... if you do... put... your boots outside." And... your jacket... i-i-f you want ketchup."
Will heats up a stove burner and pulls the egg crate from the fridge with a deep breath, then glances outside to find a heap of black leather in the grass.
"I'm guessing... four eggs." Will hums gently as he gets to work.
"You're pretty big. You need the protein."
Castle Byers welcomes all.
